That’s my girl.
My girl.
It wasn’t true yet. Not officially. But it felt like a promise, one I wanted to keep.
Later, when I got home, I stood in the dark looking out the window of my cozy home. The streetlights cast a golden haze over the sidewalk, and I thought about all the nights Blair probably walked home alone from campus, all the nights she carried more than anyone realized.
And all the nights I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t let that happen again.
She’d come home for Madison, sure, but I’d bet anything there was more to it, something she wasn’t saying yet. But I’d be here when she was ready to tell me about it. Right here. Waiting.
Chapter 15
Blair
I hadn’t visited my parents’ house in over four years, but it looked almost identical.
The front porch light still flickers, despite my mom’s yearly threats to replace the fixture. The tulips we planted when I was in high school bloomed in uneven clumps along the walkway. My dad’s old truck still sat crooked in the driveway, the front bumper perpetually dented from who knows what.
I stood there for too long, hand hovering over the doorbell, until the door opened on its own.
“Blair.” My mom’s voice caught, like she hadn’t been sure I was real until that moment.
I offered a small smile. “Hi, Mom.”
Her eyes softened, and she stepped back. “Come in, sweetheart. Please.”
I walked in slowly, my heart pounding in my chest, a lump forming in my throat. The scent of rosemary and lemon cleaner clung to the air, comforting and sterile.
As I entered the living room, my dad stood from the couch, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Hi.” My voice barely made it out.
I sat across from them on the couch I used to fall asleep on during movie nights. The silence stretched, thick and uncertain. They looked older and more tired, or maybe I was seeing them differently now.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” my mom said.
“I almost didn’t.” I swallowed hard. “But I think I needed to.”
My dad nodded slowly. “We missed you, Blair. Every damn day.”
Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back. “Then why did you let me go? Why did you make it so easy to stay gone?”
My mom flinched. “We thought we were doing what was best. You were so angry when you left. We thought it was about school, the fight about your future and writing, ”
“It wasn’t just about that.” The words spilled out before I could stop them. My chest burned. “It wasn’t about that at all, not really.” I sat at the edge of the couch, spine straight, fingers laced together so tightly they were going numb.
“There was this professor,” I said, voice cracking on the word. “My English professor, sophomore year.”
I could already feel the panic threatening to close in, the way it always did when I spoke about it out loud. But I pressed forward.
“I went to his office one day after class to talk about a paper I was struggling with. It was supposed to be a quick meeting. But once I got there, he closed the door. Locked it.”
My mom’s hand froze around the mug.
“He said he could help me improve my grade… if I was willing to be ‘more open.’ He came close, too close, and before I could react, he was touching me. He shoved me back against the wall, kissing me. The next thing I knew he had me on the old couch and started to touch me everywhere. I didn’t know what to do, I just laid there frozen until it was over. ”
The words came faster now, sharper. “I didn’t report it. I couldn’t. I was scared. Ashamed. I felt like I’d done something wrong just by being there. And I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t believe me. That you’d tell me to toughen up, or that I was overreacting. You were already disappointed in me for switching majors. I didn’t want to lose you completely.”
